Retribution
by Sapphire1112
Summary: One shot. Retribution comes in more than one form. I do not own the Characters. Strachamp.


**Connie**

Guilt. It weighs me down like a relentless anchor.

I haven't seen my daughter for nearly a year now – and I haven't spoken to her since before Christmas. I'd been limiting our video calls, so that she didn't notice how poorly I looked – but we still spoke on the phone every day – and emailed or texted. Until the day I was supposed to fly out to Colorado. After I collapsed, I couldn't bring myself to tell her how poorly I was over the phone, so I chickened out and left a message saying that I had to work. Maybe it would have been better – easier for me to tell her the truth if I had actually spoken to her – we would have talked for longer – and she would have known that something else was wrong. Finding out I was ill would have been harder for her though. As it is, she thinks I've chosen to work rather than being with her – and Sam, no doubt thinks that too.

I've never heard from Grace since then – and that was months ago. What I wouldn't give to be able to get on a plane to go and see her. I've left messages, sent emails – and I've even written her a letter. I wrote one to Sam to, trying to explain. I've had nothing but silence back from either of them. I nearly paid for the Cancer with my life – and now I'm paying again. I can understand the anger – well, Gracie's anger. I'd be angry to – but if I just had the chance to explain...Sam on the other hand, has no right to be angry with me, no matter what he thinks is happening here. If he hadn't taken my daughter, silently one night, we wouldn't be in this situation at all – and I probably wouldn't have dealt with everything so badly – so alone. The message he left in their absence was perfectly clear.

'No one wants you – deal with it on your own.'

It was nasty.

If I'm honest, I didn't realise how seriously ill I was until it was too late – nearly too late. I didn't die like I expected to, but I still lost my daughter.

I've had no contact with Sam since they left. All the arrangements for Colorado were made between Grace and I. I imagine Sam didn't dare speak to me after the stunt he'd pulled. Of course that was then. I don't know his reasons for behaving the way he did – and I don't know whether he really believes that I cancelled Christmas for work – or whether he knows there's some other reason and has gone along with this to spite me. The way he looked at me before they left – when he was begging me to be a family with him and Grace – despite myself, I really believe that he cared. After he 'caught me out' in the storeroom, he allowed me to think that he loved me. I've always known that he had a slightly spiteful streak – but I didn't think he was cruel. Now I know that he never loved me – and I feel cheap and used. Unloved.

Anyway, I feel so guilty. I feel guilty about not going to see Grace at Christmas. Guilty about lying to her. Guilty about not telling her I was ill in the first place.

And guilty about all the times she's thought that she's unimportant to me.

I shut the front door and chuck my car keys on the table in the hall. Another long day. I spend every evening tired out. It makes me wonder whether I did go back to work too soon – not that I got much choice. Hassen was very persuasive – all he had to do was pile on the guilt. After that it wasn't difficult to make me say 'yes'.

I was already eaten away by the guilt over my daughter, then Hassen added guilt about the department being short-staffed – and Ethan making a pig's ear of running the ED in my absence before resigning. It was too much. Too much guilt – so I agreed to go back before I was ready. I mean, I'm still waiting for the insurance to let me fly. Not that I think it will make much difference – just turning up in New York, but it's worth a try. Maybe I can get Grace to listen to me – with Sam's help. He won't get a choice about helping me – he owes me. Big time.

Until I'm allowed to fly though, I can do nothing except keep trying to get through to her from here. I sigh and begin my usual after-work routine.

Open the fridge and take out a bottle of wine. Pour myself a glass and replace the bottle in the fridge for laters top-up. Then I head into the living room with my glass of wine. I'm stopped in my tracks by the doorbell. Placing my glass on the coffee table, I go back out to the front door.

Simba bolts through it as soon as it's open – followed by a very hyped-up young girl, screaming 'Mummy' excitedly and throwing her arms around me.

"Hello, sweetheart." I mumble in bewilderment, wondering if I'm dreaming – or if I've perhaps been drinking wine all day without noticing. Grace steps back after our long embrace and I rub my wet eyes.

She stares at me, suddenly looking upset. "Mummy, you've been ill!" She exclaims – screwing her face up to ward off the tears.

I pull her against me again. "Shh-shh." I whisper quietly. "How do you-"

"Both my parents are doctors." She reminds me, her voice subdued by my top. "-and I'm not stupid. I can tell that you've been poorly – and you loved having long hair. It's Cancer, isn't it."

Of course – my hair.

"I'm sorry, darling – I couldn't tell you over the phone." I whisper. "But I'm ok now. I was just waiting for the insurance to let me travel, so I could come and see you." I kiss her head. "I've missed you so much."

"Missed you too, Mummy." She mumbles.

Sam chooses this moment to speak. I was vaguely aware of his presence – aware that he had shut the door behind them and was leaning against it – but up to now he hasn't spoken a word and I haven't looked at him.

"Grace-" He starts, but she spins around and screams at him angrily.

 **Sam**

"I hate you, Dad – I hate you." Grace yells at me – and she slaps me, much like her mother has done in the past. I can't blame Connie though, she's never slapped me in front of Grace, and I certainly deserved this one.

"I hate you!" Our daughter continues to scream at me. "I wish you were dead." She sobs, before storming off into the living room with Simba.

I slump against the front door again in shock and slowly move my eyes up to Connie. She's standing against the wall, looking shell-shocked by Grace's outburst.

"I'm guessing that Grace knows it wasn't my idea to go back to New York?" She mutters.

"No."

Connie leaves me stood in the hall and rushes after Grace. I decide it would be best for me to leave. I'm about to open the front door again when Connie yells urgently from the other room.

"Sam, get in here now."

I run to the living room – and find to my horror, that Grace's angry outburst has led to her having an epileptic fit. She hasn't had one for a while.

Between us, Connie and I manage to support her, until she stops shaking.

"Shh-shh, it's ok, sweetheart – it's nearly over." Connie whispers gently as she comes around.

"Mum-my? Dad-dy?" Grace mumbles.

"We're both here, darling. Sam – go and get some water." Connie instructs me.

"Wa-ter." Grace croaks sleepily as I come back. Connie takes the glass off me and helps Grace drink.

"Can you get a blanket from the airing cupboard, Sam?" She requests civilly.

When I return, I lift Grace onto the sofa where Connie covers her with the blanket and soothes her gently to sleep.

"Just rest, sweetheart, We can talk afterwards when you feel better."

I sit for about half an hour, watching Gracie sleep – and Connie looking after her. I say nothing, and the latter doesn't speak to me – or show any recognition of my presence in the room. I feel so awful – my actions have basically led to my daughter having an Epileptic fit brought on by the stress I caused. Some father I am – and some partner too. Not that Connie and I were together – I saw to that, but I promised her we'd be a family and then ripped Grace from her arms. Now, it turns out that she's been battling Cancer on her own. Definitely best if I leave.

I quietly leave the room as Connie sits with Grace – watching her sleep and head to the front door.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice hisses behind me as I open the door.

"Leaving." I mumble. "I'm not wanted here."

"Oh, does that surprise you, Sam?" She practically spits out – keeping her voice low.

"No." I answer miserably. "I didn't want to cause her to fit." I mumble, unable to stop my distress from becoming visible.

There's a murmur from the other room and Connie glances over her shoulder.

"Go and wait in there." She retorts with a sigh – indicating the kitchen. "Go on!" She repeats crossly when I hesitate. "The offer has a shelf-life of two seconds."

I shut the door hurriedly and go into the kitchen.

Sitting down, I lean on my elbows – and putting my head in my hands, I quietly sob. I've made such a mess of things and I don't know how to even begin putting them right. Seeing Connie was quite shocking - I knew she had been ill the second I saw her. Grace was right – she doesn't look quite as well as she should – and of course, her hair.

I can only hear bits of the conversation next door. Connie's had a lot of chemotherapy – with surgery in between. She was planning to tell us when she came over for Christmas.

"I didn't want to spoil Christmas, sweetheart – but I thought it was better to tell you face-to-face." Connie explains."I'm sorry I wasn't with you at Christmas, but the treatment made my body weaker and I caught an infection. I had to stay in hospital so they could look after me."

"So, you weren't working, Mummy?" Grace asks.

"No, sweetheart."

"I knew you wouldn't have cancelled seeing me for work." I hear Grace state happily.

It's true. She tried to tell me that at first – but I wouldn't hear of it, and eventually I convinced her to ignore her mother's attempts of contact.

"We don't need her." I told Grace.

We nearly didn't have her.

"Is Daddy very angry with me?" Grace mumbles – just loudly enough for me to hear. My ears prick up some more. "I said some really horrible things."

"No he's not angry, sweetheart." Connie reassures her. "I think he's upset that he hurt you by what he did – and it's not nice when you have a fit for any of us. He's upset that you had to go through that again."

"I was just so angry – he's been pretending it was your idea this whole year – and all the time you were poorly on your own." She explains. Then her voice changes to shock. "Did-did...Daddy...know?"

That hurts a lot – that she thinks I might have been aware that her Mum was seriously ill and still acted the way I did.

"No." Connie answers hurriedly. "I didn't tell anyone sweetie – not even anyone over here."

"Not even Charlie?"

"No, not even Charlie." Connie hesitates. "I'm afraid I've never been good at asking for help, sweetheart." She pauses. "Gracie, I know what your Dad did was awful – and he knows that too. He's made some bad decisions – and acted quite immaturely, but he's a good man – and he loves you very much. He told you the truth eventually, didn't he." She adds. "Your Dad has always had a tendency to act before he thinks – and whatever his reasons for doing what he did, I should think the situation probably spiralled and he got out of his depth quite quickly. He probably didn't know how to put it right."

"Is he very upset?" She asks nervously.

"He's quite upset, darling – but more about the mess he's made than anything you said. He knows you didn't mean it."

"Has he left?"

"No." Connie answers. "He's in the kitchen – shall I go and get him?"

Connie arrives back in the kitchen. "We're going to watch a film, if you wish to join us." She announces.

"I'm sorry." I mumble. "I'm so sorry about everything, and I-"

"Oh, stop it, Sam – do!" She retorts briskly. "I want Grace kept calm, so just relax – we'll deal with all that later. If you want some wine, it's in the fridge."

We watch a film – and Grace requests some pizza, seeing as none of us have eaten. I keep my head down – submitting obediently to whatever Connie says, wondering what's going to happen after Grace goes to bed. Grace seems more or less happy to have the company of both of us for once – but I know that I am still very much in the doghouse with Connie – and I will be for a long time, not that it's surprising, given my behaviour over the past year. She was pretty much spot on with what she thought happened. Eventually my conscience became too much and I had to admit everything to Grace – who angrily demanded a flight to England immediately. She barely spoke to me on the flight over.

When the film ends and the DVD is stopped, the football comes on and I sit watching whilst Connie tucks Grace in. Her bed is already made up. All prepared for our daughter to sleep in. It's another thing that tugs at my heartstrings. All this time – no matter what else has been going on, Connie has had Grace's room ready in case she came back.

When Connie comes back to the living room, she sits next to me on the sofa, draining her wine glass – but she doesn't speak. I want to talk – to explain myself as best I can – and to find out more about what's been happening to her in the past year. I feel awful about not being here when she needed me – but I want to tell her that I'm here now. I know better then to initiate a discussion when I've caused her so much trouble though, so I just sit and wait, hoping.

"Well, I'm going to bed." She comments when she's finished her wine. "I get very tired these days."

I feel another stab of guilt from the reminder that she's been ill. "Thank you for what you said to Grace." I mumble politely – feeling that I should at least acknowledge it.

"Yes, well I did that for Grace." She announces. "If anything were to happen to me, I can't have her hating the only parent she's got left."

Another - more painful stab – and this time I can't stop myself. "How serious was the Cancer?"

"Serious. They said I had days left after I collapsed with the infection." She informs me bluntly. "I knew at that point, you wouldn't have been able to get her back in time - if I had been able to get a hold of you."

"W-where was it?" I stammer in shock – realising that we came close to losing her.

Connie unbuttons her blouse just enough for me to see the scar on her chest.

"Y-your heart." I stammer again – answering my own question.

She buttons her blouse again. "No one would operate with the infection, Sam. Then I collapsed again and they didn't have a choice – I was going to die anyway. I wasn't expected to survive the surgery. I didn't expect to survive it either." She picks up her empty glass – clearly not intending to sit with me for any longer than necessary. "Well, like I said, I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, I guess I should be going." I mutter.

"You're not going anywhere." She retorts bossily.

"What? You're-you're going to let me sleep on the sofa?" I question astounded.

Connie glares at me in that unimpressed manner she has perfected. "Ever since she was born our daughter has only ever had one of us present at a time – which I accept was partly my fault at the beginning but I think she - at the very least, deserves to have us both here when she gets up in the morning, don't you." She asks me hauntingly – though it's more of a statement then a question. She stands up "Now, given the unexpected manner of your return, I'm afraid the spare room is currently unavailable." She continues – sounding quite irritated by what she's having to say. "If you wish to sleep on the sofa, that is entirely up to you – you'll find extra blankets in the airing cupboard where you got the one for Grace earlier." Connie makes her way to the living room door, before turning back to me. "Otherwise, kindly see that you don't wake me up when you come in."

There's only ten minutes of the football left, so I watch until the end, then get ready for bed. I hesitate. Did Connie really suggest that I spent the night in her room? - or did I get the wrong end of the stick? Well, I suppose the worst that can happen is I get pushed out of bed if I'm wrong.

I close the door behind me, throw my clothes on the chair by her dressing table and walk around the bed to the far side – which is empty. I've just got in and laid down when she speaks.

"Did you win?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." I put in hurriedly.

She sighs. "Relax, Sam – I wasn't asleep. The football – did you win?"

"Oh. Uh – yeah. Well, draw." I mutter.

"Good." She answers.

"Thanks for not making me sleep on the sofa."

"Well, I can do without you complaining about a bad back tomorrow." She remarks.

This is my chance. I lean up on my elbows. "I know that sorry is not enough and what I did to you is unforgivable – but I really am sorry, Connie."

"I believe you, Sam." She informs me. "I believe that you really are sorry – and I believe that you wouldn't have forgiven yourself if the Cancer had killed me. I also believe that if you had know I was ill, you would have brought Grace back." She turns over to look at me. "What I don't believe, Sam, is that _you_ care – or that you ever loved me." She turns back over.

"I do, Con – I really do." I tell her.

"No," She answers. "If you did – you wouldn't have done what you did."

"You-you always hurt the people you love." I stammer.

"You didn't just hurt me , Sam – you were cruel."

I lie back down miserably. How can I put this right? "I wasn't intending to take the job in New York – or to quit my job here. I was just going to text you about it – to see what your reaction was. And then tell you I hadn't taken it after all – but Grace found the notes I'd made about it – and she got so excited about New York – and seeing all her friends again. It just seemed to spiral from there and couldn't stop it. Yes, it was cruel – but it wasn't meant to be. It just totally got out of hand. I didn't know what to do."

She's silent for a minute. "Do you have any idea how many times I've wished you were here over the past year? - both of you. Even after the way you left – I would have done anything to see you again."

"I'm sorry." I mutter tearfully – knowing that I've nearly destroyed her. My hand accidentally brushes hers and unusually, she lets me grasp it.

 **Connie**

It goes against my usual way of doing things. It would be much easier to push him away and rebuff him, but that's what he expects me to do. Earlier in the evening, I mulled it over and over in my head. I eventually decided after thinking it over, that this will make him feel even more guilty about the way he's treated me – and that's what he deserves. If I allow him to offer me comfort then it'll make him realise just how awful it's been this past year, so I'll accept his comfort – he won't get anything more, at least not until I feel like he's been satisfactorily punished, but I'll let him comfort me.

If nothing else, it will test him to see whether he seriously cares enough to stay. Whether he does or not – he's not taking my daughter away again. If that means letting them both stay here, so be it.

 **Sam**

Before I can stop myself, I pull Connie into a comforting hug – one that she surprisingly accepts. It's uncharacteristic. She must have been so lonely and terrified – so scared that she'd never see Grace again.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry – I hurt you so much." I mumble.

"It makes you think – when you come close to death without your family around you." She comments. "Are you planning to stick around – or do you intend to disappear again?"

"I'm not going anywhere." I inform her. "Even if you want me to leave – I won't."

"Hmm, I still not sure I believe you." Connie answers. "But if you do stick around – I might be able to forgive you at some point in the future."

"Thank you, Connie."

 **Connie**

"I said 'might'." I point out.

Let him grovel a good bit first.


End file.
